A/N: The plot thickens and continues on... I hope you all enjoy xx Mariah

King Jim Clancy rode alongside his two principal commanders Lord Edward Buckley and Lord Robert Bracken, with three of his personal guards reinforcing their rear. Behind them stood an assembled force of nearly 60,000 men – each of whom's captains and flagbearers wearing the sigil of their houses: the royal House Clancy, reinforced with soldiers supplied by Houses Buckley, Blackwood, Rykker, Maege, and Bracken, etc. Upon passing through Aurora lands, his large royal army was joined up with Lord Thomas Gordon along with most of his bannermen, some twenty-five thousand strong.

The King had a rather stone-cold, serious expression on his face ever since word reached him from his wife that his great-uncle meant to march without any instruction to. He had revoked Lord Harrison's command and gifted it to his brother Ned without further consultation. There was no other move to be made, but it still frustrated him that he couldn't even trust his own family during this mess of a war.

Lord Bracken looked at the other commander, albeit a bit uneasy, and spoke first, "You haven't said a word since we marched on this morning, your grace."

Jim gave the man a brief glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the road. "Does the truth not surprise you as it has me?" he asked. "Did you know of this conspiracy and not warn me?"

Lord Bracken grimaced. "Considering whom we're up against, no. Lord Harrison has reason to want to fight the rebels, but he should have asked for your leave to do so," the man replied. "But the way you've been carrying yourself since receiving the news has made people start to… question."

"Question what?" His voice had raised a bit and he turned his head back toward his commander.

"Think hard on it, your grace. You've been pushing yourself harder than you've ever been," Lord Buckley said. "A good King must be able to remain level-headed and keep his composure and must rid himself of any distraction."

"If you have something to say, then say it now and to my face my lords." He replied sharply but did not turn his attention from the road ahead of them.

"I'll make it plain and simple," Lord Bracken answered courteously. "If you overextend yourself too far in this war, you'll end up losing more than you could possibly gain."

Jim frowned and his jaw set firmly as he tightened his grip on the reins of his horse. "I am well aware of my limits, Lord Bracken, as do my councilors," he countered with a sigh. "I imagined that you of all people should understand that as my commander or was I mistaken?"

The lord was clearly taken aback a bit, but kept his cool and spoke carefully. "Sometimes the truth cuts both ways and that means that we each need to hear the hard truth," Lord Bracken told him. "You may not want to hear it, but as one of your military commanders, I think this is something you may need to hear."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his nostrils, not wanting to be distracted by idle conversation.

However, judging by the look in the eyes of his commanders, neither of them was ever going to back down from this. He shook his head and nearly threw his hands up in the air, but he conceded. "All right, then," he muttered.

Lord Edward Buckley felt the need to intervene and clear things up. "What I believe Lord Bracken is trying to tell you your Grace, is that blind rage can lead to one making rash decisions and costly mistakes."

Jim glanced at Edward. "And what do you believe I should've done, Lord Buckley?" he asked. "Stand aside and let my great uncle undermine our cause and cost us the war?"

"Don't let what your great uncle might've done control your actions. You've done all you can do with Lord Harrison for now besides throw him in a cell and If he steps out of line again you'll do just that, but don't let it dictate who you are," Lord Buckley told him simply, moving closer to him on his horse as he did so to make their conversation more personal. "A good King should do everything within his power to defend the weak, and he must do so without forsaking himself and others around him. You have a chance to break the rebel's hold on any ground and will write the end of the war itself. Don't let doubt stand in your way."

Jim took a moment to let the lord's words sink in, though it was rather difficult. True as those words may be, it stung him a bit now that he's facing a scenario like that; one in which it pitted his duty and his love for his family in an internal battle. He could not afford any inner conflict or self-doubt, but somewhere deep down he knew it was inevitable as soon as he ascended the throne. "I can't make promises I might not keep, my lords," he told them both, "but I'll try."

Jim could tell his words seemed to comfort both his commanders a bit and returned his sights on the road– noticing a rather small fortress with two bridges connecting one another on each side of the large river. "Is that…?" he asked.

Lord Buckley nodded. "Shadows Creek, the seat of House Dillard. And why exactly are we here, your Grace?"

"I thought so. I sent a raven before we left this morning. Lord Dillard will be expecting us," he explained with a nod. "To reach the western front from here, we'll need to cross the river to do so."

Lord Bracken felt the need to chime in. "Michael Dillard might've served your father in the past, but I wouldn't put anything past the old fuck unless he's absolutely certain that he'll get something in return. I would expect nothing of him, your Grace."

"Then we perhaps shouldn't keep him waiting longer than is necessary, hmm?" Jim mused but agreed internally. Lord Dillard was not someone he trusted, but he needed to cross the bridge all the same. "Lord Brack, you and Buckley will wait outside with the soldiers. My good-father Lord Gordon and my squire will accompany me with my guard when I have a word with Lord Dillard himself."

"Your Grace—" both seemed to protest, falling silent as their King raised his hand up.

"I cannot have others handling my negotiations for me and I trust Lord Thomas to give me sound counsel. Do not fret, my lords." He told them, waving off any type of argument. "The faster our crossing is secured, the sooner we can all go home once this war is over."

Lord Bracken narrowed his eyes as he saw two footmen in the distance riding towards them, each of them carrying the sigil of House Dillard: two grey towers linked by a bridge. "Well, it seems you won't have to wait much longer, your grace."

Jim had noticed as well. "Yes, I believe we'll be greeted much sooner than planned, but we do have a rather large army following us that's hard to miss," he said with a chuckle.

Lord Bracken and Buckley moved their horses to guard in front of their king as the two unknown riders rode up to him and politely lowered their heads. "You honor us with your presence, your Grace," one of them spoke. "Welcome to Shadows Creek."

"We've made the necessary arrangements for your arrival, your grace," the other man suggested.

He nodded, keeping his courtesies in mind. "So it would seem," Jim replied. "And you two are…?"

"I am Luther, your Grace, second son of Lord Dillard," the first one introduced himself with a slight bow from on top of his horse. "I handle the day-to-day running of the castle for our father."

"And I am Michael Rivers," the other said.

Lord Bracken scoffed. "So Lord Dillard sends Lame Luther and a bastard," the man muttered with another hearty laugh. "What will the old man think of next?"

Both Luther and Michael were equally offended and frowned deeply at Lord Bracken's harsh remarks and an apparent insult to their father. But before any of the soldiers could even snicker, Jim raised a dist and signaled him to be silent. "We've come to Shadows Creek to cross the river with Lord Dillard's blessings, not to hurl insults at him or any of his sons and daughters," he reminded him and then returned his attention to the men standing before him. "I apologize for Lord Bracken's rude behavior. Some people do not understand when to keep their thoughts to themselves."

Michael Rivers still sneered. "The fault lies with those who never learn when to shut their holes," the bastard muttered.

Luther on the other hand sought to change the subject and move on. "Our father has been waiting for your arrival for some time, Your Grace. He awaits your presence in the main hall."

"Then take me to him," Jim said with a smile as he rode forward and his guards followed. "My honor guard and Lord Bracken and Buckley will be accompanying me as well."

Both of Lord Dillard's sons looked at each other, before returning their gaze on their king himself again. "This way, Your Grace," spoke Luther again. "Your men are welcome to set up camp and your commanders are welcome to have rooms in the castle."

The Dillard trueborn and bastard motioned for him to follow behind them, to which he did. Jim, examining the stronghold, held the reins on his horse as he rode behind Luther and Michael. He had to secure the right to cross the bridge from Lord Dillard personally; it was the fastest means of traveling and if need be, he would employ the arsenals he had at his disposal. However, that voice, the one that now very clearly resembled Melinda's, reminded him that wasn't the best play.

All he had to do was find the right plan to bring everything into place which seemed easy enough but was not in any way, shape, or form.

Rick Payne stood atop Roquefort's battlements, eyeing the surrounding areas as more of his men offloaded supplies from his flagship on the western coast. He'd hired a few pirate companies to attack the capital while he sailed for his home territory and snuck more than thirty thousand men to encamp there while he planned his next move.

The pirates he had hired had been raiding the capital and a few castles surrounding it for almost an entire month now, and apparently, things had been going rather well for them, but he knew that their invasion would be met with an immediate response. And he wasn't sitting on his laurels either. Rick donned a tall black war helm, wrought in the shape of an iron bear, its arms coiled down around his cheeks to meet beneath his jaw.

Grabbing the hilt of his great battleax, his face hardened as one of his commanders approached him. "What?" He shouted.

"Things are going mighty well, your grace," Lord Romano grinned wickedly. "The pretended Jim Clancy has taken a wife. A southern one and his northern lords are either rioting or are confused. Lord Flaherty has sent a raven wishing to stage a mutiny on his end."

"Words are wind for now," he told his minion with an eye roll. "Who did James marry?"

"Lady Melinda Gordon is to be Grandvista's new queen, the woman who spurned you," Romano answered him dutifully, reading off a piece of parchment. "No doubt it was some ploy by Lord Thomas or his wicked wife Lady Beth to have their grandchild sit on the throne someday."

Rick's eyes were as sharp as they had ever been, but he had a different idea for why Jim would marry Lord Thomas' cunningly sweet and beautiful rose of a daughter. "Or James thought about the army they have in Aurora and that's sweet enough to lure anyone in. It's why I proposed a marriage alliance in the first place and Clancy's army would come fighting us regardless, but we'll be ready for them when they do come."

"So long as we have the pirates distracting them and we make a move to make sure we hold the west, the Clancy boy won't be able to do anything about it. This war's been over long before it even began." Romano told him, trying to ease him.

He shook his head. "And yet we never engaged them ever since we made our first move," he reminded his minion. "But you're right about one thing though: Roquefort is an impregnable fortress. So long as we still hold my family's ancestral home, we can repel one assault after another and we have access to Saltsburg and the Fever River. We can beat anyone at sea but on land… we are at their best when in our element."

Before Romano could respond, another man by the name of Ralf Stonehouse made his presence known. "My King, I bring news."

"What is it?" He muttered, gesturing at him to speak.

"Lord Wendell Whitehill and most of his bannermen have made landfall at Clearbrook to head to the capital," Stonehouse told him. "The pretender has also sent a splinter force led by Gabriel Gordon to retake the east while he and the rest of his men march to attack from the south."

Rick lifted off his helm. "So the boy king has made his first big move," he concluded. "What else?"

"Jim Clancy was last seen at Shadows Creek with nearly eighty thousand men," Ralf Stonehouse told him quickly, not wishing to upset him. "If he somehow manages to cross the river, then he may march up to attack us here at Roquefort and we won't be able to withstand that battle. The castle may hold for a time, but not against those numbers."

They intend to attack us on both sides, he soon realized. "Stonehouse, send a raven to my nephew Fredrick! Tell him that he'll likely be met with a siege or battle soon," he began barking orders at his men. "The rest of you, gather your blades and get ready. We will be fighting a war soon to come." Drowning in the war cries and maniacal laughter of his men, he stared into the distance – getting himself ready for battle once more. "So the boy intends to utilize a pincer movement on the capital while moving on us here… Impressive, but it doesn't matter," he muttered to himself. "In the end, we take what is ours with our swords, and soon the boy pretender will fall before my sword just like his father did."

As rain and thunder swept across the skies above, the preparations for a large battle was soon to be underway. Putting his helm back on and moving his men into the best possible positions, Rick was intent on holding Roquefort by any means necessary. So long as they're close to the sea, he always had a back-up in store for those brave enough to dive into the unknown waters below.

The swollen red sun was starting to hang low against the western hills; the large royal army stood outside the gates of the Shadows Creek, waiting for their King to return. When they saw King's squire along with several members of Jim's honor guard emerge from outside rather early, it left many people rather curious.

What was going on in there? Did something go wrong? If so, they believe they might have to storm the castle and take the castle by force—but Lords Edward Buckley and Robert Bracken had left orders for the men to stay put.

"Something's rather odd," a Clancy soldier quipped. "The King's been in there quite a long time."

An Aurora militiaman chimed in. "I agree. Something doesn't seem right."

"Cut the chatter, you two," Lord Edward Buckley interrupted. "Trust in the King's judgment. Believe me, he'll pull through."

"Why should a southerner have a say in ordering us the king is from the north? Such a disgrace!" Someone yelled.

Edward frowned at being called that, though Lord Blackwood stepped in. "That's enough, boys! Hanging onto old wounds like this resolves nothing but breed further resentment and suspicion. We are at war! We cannot fight amongst ourselves when the enemy is at our gates."

As the back and forth squabbling was traded, all talks soon ceased when they saw the gates of the Shadows Creek opening up and the drawbridge itself creaking down, the portcullis winched up.

The royal forces looked on as they saw King Jim riding out with Michael Rivers and Luther Dillard. Judging by the look on his face, the negotiations were rather successful. Behind the young king was a long column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery grey cloaks.

Lord Thomas Gordon galloped out to meet the king, stopping in front of him.

"Well?" the Lord of Aurora beseeched. "What did he say, your Grace?"

"It is done," Jim announced.

Logan Dillard rode up beside the King. "Our father has instructed us to tell you that he has granted your crossing. Our men are at your disposal."

"Luther thousand infantrymen and archers are now yours, your Grace," Michael Rivers told Jim. "A remaining 500 will stay here to guard your rear flanks should anyone try to pursue you."

Lord Edward Buckley rode up alongside Lord Robert Bracken. Edward spoke up as he scratched his chin. "I'm rather surprised that Lord Michael Dillard decided to cooperate. What exactly did you say to him, your Grace?"

Before any could open their mouths to speak, they looked behind the King and noticed a younger Dillard boy carrying a large set of baggage jogging towards them, being rather careful so as not to drop exactly what he was carrying. By the look on his face, he was rather anxious but rather excited and prideful.

"You will be taking on Lord Dillard's eighteenth son Dustin Dillard as your personal squire and will foster him in Aurora after the war. He will be coming with us on the road," Jim announced. "If he serves well, then he will be knighted as a reward for his loyal service. All in good time, of course."

Dustin Dillard excitedly looked at Lord Buckley. "Words alone can't express how honored I am to be picked, my lord. I swear I won't disappoint you."

"See to it that you don't." Lord Buckley dismissed him. "There is a tent about a mile out where you can find a bed and put your things. I will send for you when I need you."

By that time, Lord Thomas Gordon had gained enough confidence to speak up. "A squire, hmm? Fine, that's fine. What else did the old man say?" At that, Jim turned to look at his good father. All eyes were glued on the pair. "What is it, lad?" Lord Thomas asked.

"When the fighting is done, my great-uncle is to finally take a bride. If he is to be Lord of Oakheart, he will need an heir, and is to marry one of Lord Dillard's daughters." He said simply. "One of his choosing, of course, but a bride nonetheless."

Gasps and a few chuckles were heard among the royal forces, but a single glance from their king silenced them. The assembled army was once again on the move not long after. They crossed as the sun's reflection floated upon the green shine of the Croix River. The double-column wound its way through the gate of the eastern castle like a great steel snake, slithering across the courtyard, into the keep, and over the bridge, to issue forth once more from the second castle on the west bank.

The king rode with the vanguard, with Lord Edward Buckley, his newly-attained squire Dustin Dillard, and Jim's own squire Alexander. Behind him followed an army of over ninety thousand men: infantrymen, knights, cavalry, and archers. Some were mounted on their horses, others marched on foot. It took hours for them all to cross the bridge.

Afterward, Jim would remember the clatter of countless hooves on the drawbridge, the sight of old Lord Michael Dillard in his litter watching them pass, and the glitter of eyes peering down through the slats of the murder holes in the ceiling as they rode through.

For good or ill, Jim had made his first move and was now more than ready to fight.

The King spun in his saddle, sword raised, to block the downward swing of his enemy. The weapons clashed with the sound of steel against steel. The impact jarred his sword arm with such force that he was almost unhorsed. He gritted his teeth and pushed back against his foe but the effort availed him nothing. Abandoning his initial plan, Jim dropped the reins of his horse and went for the knife at his side.

In one fluid motion, he unsheathed the small blade with his left hand and, with the same movement, thrust it into his opponent's face. The dagger glanced off the other man's helm, failing to cause any injury. Luckily, the flash of metal and impact on his face made his opponent recoil. That was all the opening he needed to sway back in his saddle and stab the man through the side. The sharp blade pierced his enemy's armor and buried itself in the flesh inside.

The man groaned in pain, the sound amplified by the metal helm. Jim pulled at the sword from where it had become embedded in the man's side. It was not an easy task, the sword was stuck tight and he was off-balance, swaying back and forth from atop his horse. Grim desperation took him, while his opponent might be injured, possibly fatally, he could still kill the King with his own weapon and Jim's current situation left him vulnerable to attack from some other enemy.

However, he quickly wrenched backward and his sword broke free of its prison of flesh and metal. The enemy knight screamed in agony, his hands grasping the now open wound in his side as blood ran freely down his leg and the flank of his horse. The interaction had seemed to go on for hours yet, in reality, only seconds had passed. Jim readied his sword and, controlling his horse with his thighs, prepared to finish his enemy with another stroke.

It wasn't needed.

Out of nowhere, another rider appeared using their white horse to forge a space between the king and his attacker. The new arrival whirled their arm and dealt the wounded knight a savage blow with a mace. Jim's opponent dropped without a sound, striking the muddy ground with a mighty thump. He looked at his rescuer who turned in their saddle. He couldn't see his rescuer's face through his helm, but he would recognize the person anywhere. The build and poise were unmistakable and, failing that, the Forrester sigil on his armor was proudly displayed for all to see.

"Alexander," he breathed, finally controlling his breath, though his voice still sounded ragged. "You have my thanks."

The boy dipped in his saddle into a small bow. "No thanks are necessary, your Grace. It is my honor to serve my king."

Jim chuckled, lowered his sword, sheathed his dagger, and then picked up the reins of his horse. "It is lucky for me that your service is so effective. Some would never think you could do such a thing."

The helm Alexander Forrester wore obstructed his view of the boy's face but he could imagine the expression behind the metal visor. The squire turned to look down at the fallen foe, "You flatter me, your grace, but he" – he indicated the prone figure – "should never have gotten so close. It is my duty to protect you. Today, I almost failed in that."

Jim shook his head. "You're unduly hard on yourself, boy. No harm was done." He said, raising a hand to stymy the young man's inevitable protest.

The king turned and surveyed the battlefield. From a cursory glance, he could see that the fight was almost over. The enemy was fleeing the field, back into the woods they had recently charged out from and his group had been spread along the road as they marched west towards the Salts Spear. Somehow the party's scouts had missed the enemy or they had received word of their travels ahead of time.

An unforgivable oversight either way and Jim would see that those men were replaced and punished. The first they knew they were under attack was the distinct sound of arrows in flight and then the solid impact of swords hitting armor, shields, and in some cases the soft flesh beneath. Then, the enemy had come out of the trees screaming like demons, attempting to strike fear into the hearts of Jim's group before they made contact.

The enemy cavalry charged out at full gallop with a mass of men at arms sprinting behind them. Instantly, the knights who formed his honor guard had turned to face the threat, creating a defensive line and riding out to face the foe. Some had lingered behind to protect their sovereign but they had become separated in the chaos of combat as the enemy broke through the thin line. He was clearly their intended target and his men had been hard-pressed to keep the enemy away from him.

Even then, and despite their best efforts, some had made it through and Jim had found himself fighting for his life. He was grateful to not be easy prey. If he had been then this war could have been ended here and now. Glancing around, Jim could see that many of his men were still alive, with many seemingly unhurt. He sought and found Lord Edward Buckley, who was striding back to his horse which was being led by his new squire toward him.

Edward wielded twin swords in both hands, both dripping with the blood of those cursed with the misfortune of meeting the knight from Aurora on the battlefield. Jim saw the man shout a jest at Lord Robert Bracken who threw back his head and roared with laughter. This attempt to waylay them was ill-advised. Granted they had a smaller number than they had to begin with and were tired after taking Silverhill not long beforehand, but there were still more than enough to deal with this small raiding party on the road to Salts Spear.

The rebels and Rick Payne were getting desperate, along with Lord Rick's nephew Frederick Payne. This had only been a small skirmish, the enemy had been a raiding party made up of a small percent of Salts Spear's army. Jim was thankful that he'd kept up his sword practice and riding as a boy. He had no desire to become a corpse.

After all, he was newly married and was looking forward to spending a long life with his new queen. His Melinda. As always, the thought of his wife made him smile. Her soft skin, her long hair. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. Or the taste of her sweet skin against his lips. He quickly had to stop himself and clear her from his mind. That sort of distraction could get him killed.

Jim looked back towards the woods where the last of the enemy stragglers were disappearing into the dense foliage. He knew it would be smart to order a pursuit, but that would only deplete their numbers here and risk an ambush somewhere in the trees. He spurred his horse forward. One thing he could do was to check on his men and get the lines reformed as soon as possible to make camp in a better place.

The northern host had made camp several leagues south and marked the crown's side of the western front of the war with the rebels and was the furthest south Jim himself had traveled in Grandvista since re-entering the west.

While it was only made out of canvas tents with a few hastily constructed wooden palisades, it offered protection to the thousands of troops he had brought with him into the west. It was those same troops that he walked among now, accompanied only by some of his personal guards, who kept their distance. Jim enjoyed walking freely amongst his men, checking wounds, asking after comrades, and sharing the odd jest.

It lightened his heart to be amongst the common soldiers who knew everything about loyalty and nothing of the high-fangled politics that dogged those who commanded them. For their part, his men seemed to appreciate having their king among them, sharing a flagon of ale or wine, and showing a genuine concern for their wellbeing.

Everything both his father and Melinda had told him was right. If he showed the people his love and they would return it a thousandfold.

Jim's arrival in the west had been a relief to the soldiers fighting there. Fresh from his marriage to Melinda, and the knowledge that his forces were soon to be bolstered by those of Aurora, Jim had led his force at a quick march to Shadows Creek where he crossed the rather large Croix river to advance on the rebels.

There he had reinforced the defenses in the west and began to take up his campaign that he had abandoned to go back to Oakheart and had flagged in his absence, and set an arrangement for Melinda's brother Lord Gabriel to marry one of Lord Dillard's many daughters in some time either before or after the war was over.

That first evening, Jim had officially conferred the title of knight onto his squire Alexander Forrester for saving his life earlier that day and gave him a formal spot as his personal guard for now. The ceremony had been conducted in front of all of the men of the camp, who had cheered as their king's sword anointed the boy into knighthood.

Alexander had looked torn between the happiness and the pride he felt at assuming his knighthood. He had been about to repeat the oath of loyalty made by all bannerman to their king before he had stopped him.

"There is no need for you to repeat your oath, good ser. You have already sworn fealty to me on the day you became my squire and you saved my life today," he told Alexander. "I know you to be a true and loyal guard to me."

Alexander had gone red with pride and rose a knight from where he knelt before his king as only a squire before, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly on his sovereign. "This is a great honor, your grace. Thank you."

Jim stepped forward and rose his hand in the air for everyone to quiet down. "Now," he said, keeping everyone's attention. "Let's drink to this happy occasion, and mourn the passing of some beloved and loyal men today."

"And may we all find a woman to warm our beds tonight, aye, your grace?" One man cheered from the back of the crowd around him.

At this, the men around cheered mightily and as much as Jim wanted to protest, he only laughed along with the men and took a drink of his ale. His thoughts were only of Melinda and how he could end the war to be at her side again.

After a few more toasts, the king had had his fill of rowdy crowds and bawdy jokes and turned to go to his tent. His guard was standing outside, and his ever noble Aurorian guard Scott stood there tonight. Jim noticed something besides his usual happy face, was it anger?

The king hoped he had not done something to slight him by having him be on duty tonight, however, when he stepped into the canvas tent his eyes were pulled towards the silhouette of a woman sitting on his bed and it was all made clear. Did the loyal Aurora born guard think he'd ordered some whore to please him on the road instead of honoring his queen and the vow he'd made to Melinda as her husband?

"Finally," came her voice, slow, sultry, and very foreign. It surprised him and he was left balking at her like some virgin boy and not a king. "I've been waiting for you, your grace."

Jim coughed and rubbed his hand down his face. "Yes, I can see that," he responded awkwardly and stepped forward. "I'm here, yes. This is my tent, but you must've come to the wrong one... and I did not ask for you to be brought here or pay for you." He coughed to clear his throat and shuffled away from the bed rather than going towards it and began to unfasten his cloak. "You see, I'm a married man."

That made her chortle and Jim tensed at the sound. This wasn't going to be easy. It never was.

"When has that stopped a king before?" The girl asked with a smug look on her face. "You must have kingly appetites."

"A vow that I made to my wife and I do not intend to break it," he said as he undressed from his riding gear and armor after laying his cloak out, leaving himself in his white tunic and leather trousers. "You should leave."

Melinda. What would she think if she ever got wind of a woman in his tent? He thought of her sadly as he undid his sword belt last. The shame he knew she would feel seeing him so weak filled him with apprehension. He couldn't do this to her. He wouldn't.

Coughing again, twice in a row, attempting to clear some unknown obstruction, he looked about the room as he leaned his longsword against the sitting couch. His eyes settled apprehensively on the bed and he mustered some semblance of courage to begin making his way towards it.

"Stop," the girl laying on his bed commanded softly as if she wasn't yet sure she could tell him what to do. Jim halted and waited for her to say something more, but she looked frightened of what he might do to her. "My king," she added as an afterthought, no doubt hoping to soften the blow of the abrupt instruction. "Don't you wish to look upon me and see that you would be quite satisfied with what you have been given?"

Jim clenched his teeth together painfully. How many times did he have to tell her? "No. You should go," he told her, but the words fell short as he took her in and his breath caught in his throat. It had been so long since he'd been this close to a woman. "I told you once before."

Melinda. The last woman you were with was your wife.

The words repeated in his brain over and over as he looked at the whore before him. Atop her head sat a mop of tight brown curls, somehow flecked with both gold and chestnut in equal measure. Dark, bronze-colored skin as far as his eyes could see. Wide shapely hips and a pair of thick thighs which he imagined wrapped around his waist. Her breasts could fill his hands, he was sure of it, and it left his mouth-watering.

Allowing himself the simple pleasure of enjoying the view of another woman, he realized just how long it had been and how easy it would be to take his pleasure.

Finally, he allowed his eyes to meet hers and he found himself forgetting to breathe, his cock straining in his trousers. He fought on when Melinda flooded his memory again. His honor and hers too. He couldn't. "You should go," he repeated and her face twisted into confusion. "I won't tell you again."

The girl's head leaned to the side, her lips pressing together into a pout. "Most men share more than one bed. Why shouldn't you do the same as a king?" She spoke slowly, her hands leaving her robe, the silk sliding from her skin to pool around her ankles on the floor. "Your friend… the handsome lordling named Edward, he picked me out special for you and said that you had grown lonely on the road so far away from your wife's bed. He was sure you would not be disappointed in me…"

Jim wasn't disappointed, but he wanted his wife and he didn't know how to tell this... whore that in a way she would understand without driving his lust further for her.

Her small, delicate hands traced over her own freckled flesh, drawing his attention down to her small but perky breasts and the flat plane of her stomach. She wasn't like the other girls he'd been with at brothels before. She didn't reek of sex and other men, nor did she move with promiscuity. The girl must be new and quite possibly - dare he think it - a virgin.

She was so... different. Dark where Melinda was light, wild curls where she had tame locks. In no way prim or proper or Queenly. This woman represented the unknown, where his wife remained ever constant and... familiar. Melinda was his safe haven. He couldn't do this to her.

Jim could see the girl was regarding him with a sense of fear, as though he might hurt her. "I have never heard of a man who doesn't want a maiden in their bed after a battle... Lord Buckley assured me you would want someone to warm your bed." She muttered.

He turned away and walked over to pour himself some wine. "I am not like most men," he sighed with a shake of his head and finished the cup. "I do not allow lust to rule over me. At least I try not to let it." Jim stretched his back out while pouring another cup of wine and h brought it to her this time instead.

The girl finished off the cup of wine quickly and her lips parted slowly before closing as she tried to find exactly what to say. "Forgive me for saying this if it offends you, my king, but I have never heard of a man to pay a whore and not bed her..." She said, handing him the glass.

"I am not most men, and I never paid you," he told her with a slight smile. Lord Buckley would be the one who lost his coin tonight, not him. "Would you like another cup?"

"Yes, I would." She said as he returned with a full glass again, and this time another for him. They shared a silent toast and a sip before she leaned in to kiss him. When they parted, her cheeks were pink from heat. Most likely from the wine. "I apologize, your grace, but I wanted to do that." He finished his glass and set it aside, pondering his words, but the whore beat him to speaking. "I know that you want me." Her hand worked his trousers open and grasped his cock. He was still hard and she giggled. "See, I told you. You want me."

That was a basic instinct. He wanted to tell her that. To tell her that he wanted Melinda and he kept telling himself that when the whore took him into her mouth, when he grasped her hair, and even when he spilled his seed down her throat. His basic instinct didn't hide the shame that flooded him after or the regret, bitterness, and anger. This girl wasn't his wife and he would never forgive himself for it.

"Get out," he told her and the whore fled from his tent without another word.

But how could Melinda forgive him either?